


can’t love me

by icanseeyoudancing



Series: the 'give alex manes the whole world' movement [1]
Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Angst, But Nothing’s Really Fixed, Character Death, Fix-It, It’s worse actually, I’m sorry, M/M, Not Really Unrequited Love, Sad Ending, There’ll be a sequel don’t worry, it pained me to write this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-10
Updated: 2019-05-10
Packaged: 2020-02-29 12:44:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18778540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icanseeyoudancing/pseuds/icanseeyoudancing
Summary: Too little, too late - the aftermath of the finale. Angst warning.





	can’t love me

 

 

> i.  _you could’ve loved me_

 

When Michael shows up at the UFO Emporium, fingers tightening around his backpack strap, so hard they’re almost turning white, Alex is _so sure_ he’s about to get the _no-homo-bro_ talk, and he knows what will happen next, even though it’s only happened once before. They’ll drift apart, it’ll be friendly conversations dwindling to hellos in the hallway, before it disappears entirely, and they’ll be perfect strangers, a face that’s attached to a memory you can’t reach anymore.

 

When he meets him in the back room, the entire thing is plastered with glow-in-the-dark stars, something you’d find in a little kid’s bedroom. He’s never kissed a boy before, he hasn’t kissed anyone he likes. He just wants to know what it’s like to feel safe for a while.

 

Michael’s face is turning white. He’s twisting his hands together and instead of staring at the floor, he’s looking at him. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale.

 

For a second, he thinks he might’ve told his dad.

 

But then he leans forward, grabs Alex’s face in both hands, and kisses him - he realizes he’s been holding his breath.

 

Ten years later, Michael’s pulling off Alex’s t-shirt, Alex is looking at the newspaper clippings tacked up on the walls, all in a ten year range. Obituaries, all of them. For a second, he thinks that Michael might have a true crime obsession (something Roswell doesn’t lack, unsurprisingly), but all of the clippings are labeled _Military,_ and it’s only section M of the whole alphabetized article. M for Manes.

 

Sometimes, love is too big a word to say. But this time, it feels too small. Not strong enough. _Love_ isn’t fucking and fighting and falling apart all over again. All he does is grin up at Michael before he pushes him down on the bed in the corner and they’re both breathless, tangled up in one another. “I like the decorations.”

 

Michael stares at the clippings that cover his windows like he’s seeing them for the first time. A corner of his mouth curls upwards. “I’m glad.”

 

“Been thinking about you, you know,” he says. It sounds like the beginning of a sentence, and for a second, it looks like he’s going to say something else, but he doesn’t. He just reaches for the hem of his own t-shirt and pulls it up over his head.

 

 

 

>   
>    
>  2\. _you can’t love me_

 

He catches Maria and Michael in The Wild Pony when he comes to visit her. They’re in Mimi’s apartment, on the couch, the only place he’s ever been in that feels like home, the only two people who have felt like home and him in the doorway, feeling like he’s watching the whole thing from above.

 

It’s a cute little apartment. Artsy and DIY-decorated, like something in a Pier One Imports catalogue. There’s half of a road trip map hanging above the couch, ripped down the middle, red tacks outlining a route out of Roswell. He knows those tacks because he and Maria placed them there, he knows the map because the other half is in the dashboard of his car. He remembers promising he wouldn’t leave without her. He remembers believing she wouldn’t leave him. But this feels like being left.

 

Maria doesn’t notice him, neither does Michael. Mimi does. She walks over to him, opens the door, and grins, oblivious. “Alex. It’s nice to see you. Your aura’s looking … compromised.”

 

Michael looks up. Maria pushes him onto the floor and he goes toppling off the couch with a _thud._ But it’s too late. She looks like a deer in headlights, her face five seconds from crumpling, jaw set, mouth open in preparation to make an excuse.

 

_Is this what forgetting feels like?_

 

He stares at the two of them from the doorway, eyes wide. Maria stares back.

 

_Been thinking about you, you know._

 

He wishes he was better at telling if someone was lying. He wishes he hadn’t believed words said into skin and bone, words said without weighing the consequences first. He wished he didn’t hope quite so much.

 

 

 

 

> iii. _you’ll never love me_

 

He gift-wraps the last piece of the spaceship. It’s been sitting at the back of his closet for almost two weeks. Out of sight, out of mind. The whole thing felt slightly ironic - because he hadn’t seen Michael in three days but he couldn’t stop thinking about him. The only wrapping paper he has is covered in Santa’s and cartoon reindeer - he buries it at the bottom of his duffel, along with his shred of Maria’s map and gets in the car.

 

He drives past The Wild Pony, where Maria’s standing in the parking lot, flipping off someone driving off. She recognizes his car, but she doesn’t stop him. He passes her, passes almost a mile of empty land before reaching Michael’s Airstream.

 

Outside, the wind is beginning to pick up, and sand is flying everywhere. The trailer looks small. He can see through the windows again - the obituaries are gone. Michael’s pacing. When he sees him, he disappears, and the door opens.

 

“Hey.”

 

They’re standing five feet apart, and Michael looks like he’s debating to go closer or back away. Alex makes his decision for him.

 

“I’m not here to talk.” He says quietly. He throws the duffel at Michael. “It’s the last piece. Kyle’s dad left it to me.”

 

Michael catches it, but doesn’t make a move to open it. His face gives way to understanding. “Why are you giving this to me?”

 

Alex weighs his words. And he watches. Takes it all in. Remembers. This is the last time he’ll see Michael like this, unruly and wild and not quite his but close enough to pretend. This is the last goodbye he’ll say to him.

 

“I’m leaving town.” he says. “I just … I don’t think I could live with myself if I had something you wanted so badly. So find your home, okay? Be happy.”

 

Michael wanders closer, confusion flitting across his face. He mouths a word Alex doesn’t hear but it looks a lot like _stay._ Alex shakes his head. Wipes his face. Inhale, exhale. And he turns around, walks back and sits down into the Jeep. And that might just be the hardest thing he’s ever done - leaving the ghost of someone who didn’t love him anymore.

 

-

 

It’s been a day and he wants to throw Maria’s guitar through the window, he wants to scar his hand himself, he wants to relive that moment over and over, he wants Alex back, all of him, any of him, the way he was ten years ago, the way he was five minutes ago, sobbing as Jesse Manes brought the hammer down, the silence that followed when Jesse stumbled out the doorway drunkenly, a satisfied smile on his face.

 

_I would’ve changed for you. I would’ve turned myself inside out for you._

 

“What - Michael, sit down.” Maria says from behind the bar, polishing wineglasses. “Calm down.”

 

He stops pacing, in the middle of the floor, and stares at her like she’s a stranger, even though she’s the only constant company he’s had for the last decade that he didn’t end up having sex with. But they crossed that bridge. “Don’t you get it? Don’t you get - don’t you get what we _did?_ He’s your _best friend,_ Maria. And he’s gone. Because of us, because we screwed up.”

 

She looks at him, not quite comprehending. Like she’s looking right through him.

 

“I _loved_ him.” His voice cracks a little, and he wipes his face on his sleeve. _I could’ve loved him._ “You loved him. He loved you.”

 

“And what about you?” she leans her elbows on the counter. “Did he love you?”

 

He hesitates. And like that, she has her answer.

 

“Yeah.” she smiles a little bitterly. “Yeah, you did.” she goes back to polishing her glasses, indifferent, before pouring herself straight vodka and taking a sip without wincing. “Why did you come here, Michael?”

 

He shakes his head. She’s not crying. But he might be. “I don’t know, DeLuca.”

 

 

-

 

 

He sits underneath the _Welcome To Roswell_ sign for almost twenty minutes, turning the map over and over in his hands. He doesn’t know where he’ll go. He doesn’t know if he can say another goodbye. He doesn’t know if he should.

 

They were going to drive to California with Mimi. Maria had a whole list of doctors, psychic healers, and other sketchy addresses on the back of the map. A name catches his eye.

 

Ayita Manes. _Manes._ He’d almost forgotten that him and Maria had tracked her down. But that had been almost thirteen years ago. Barely a day from here. A couple hours with no stops.

 

And like that, he has a destination. 

 

He’s pulling out. All of it happens too fast. A car skids sideways, tipping his over and taking it with him. For a second, they’re airborne. His fingers tighten around the steering wheel. _Michael._

 

Inhale. Exhale. He waits for the next breath.

 

It never comes. 

**Author's Note:**

> Don’t worry - this isn’t the last you’ll see of Alex Manes! I’m actually working on a sequel for this called fools with hearts that tried too hard. 🤪 sorry for this. My tumblr is i-can-see-you-dancing. Come fangirl with me!


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